


Long & Lost

by livulmann



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5565094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livulmann/pseuds/livulmann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternative ending to S5. Exploration of Carrie and Quinn relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long & Lost

Is it too late to come on home  
Are all those bridges now old stone  
Is it too late to come on home  
Can the city forgive, I hear its sad song  
(Florence & The Machine)

Fate is a bizarre thing. After all this months she surely doesn’t expect to see him here in the park surrounded by the lush green mass, a sharp landscape of his face lit by the morning sun. She remembers his unexpected appearance at her father's funeral and the warm embrace of his arms. The air that got stuck in her thorax for a moment, whooshes through her windpipe and half opened mouth. She doesn't feel sentimental, not at all, but perhaps is struck by this surreal image (her last memory of him is saturated with grief and guilt, the sickening smell of hospital detergents) . She wonders if she has a right to come and reappear in his life again, after she almost got him killed. He is in recovery now, slowly putting back disintegrated pieces, learning to accept limitations of a frail human body – something that must be unbearable for him, she reasons. Still she decides against her better judgment and plaguing feeling of remorse telling her stay in her lane and let her presence remain unknown.

 

He is standing here with Dar, his mouth twitches slightly, when he sees her approaching, the rest of him solid and unreadable – she couldn’t dig through layers even if she wanted to. Dar Adal gives her annoyed look, eyeing her with the same slightly accusing expression he usually wears around her.

“Carrie, come to my office in 20 minutes. We have matters to discuss. Don't forget to bring the files". Dar of course hates the mere idea of Carrie Mathison reemerging from thin air and racking havoc again. 

“Yes, of course. I´ll be there,” she reassures him, her gaze trained on Quinn. Her words are stuck on the periphery of Dar Adal´s mind, his brain wrestling with far more perplexing issue. Somewhere between clusterfuck with Brody and mess in Islamabad his protégé got caught and then thinly wrapped in the cocoon of Carrie´s unstable persona. Dar struggles to understand, rationalize a blind devotion and self- sacrificial nihilism that Carrie sparks in Peter Quinn, his alacrity to rip himself into shreds for her, which looks rather pathetic. Dar Adal leaves them, feeling slightly annoyed, bothered by a nagging idea of Carrie Mathison screwing up already shaky existence of his most valuable recruit . 

 

“Hey,” she utters , after the old man is finally out if sight, words rolling heavily from her tongue.

“Hey Carrie,” he murmurs softly, as if there is no mileage of weeks and months separating them.  
“How are you?” she questions, thousands concerns buzzing in her mind with ever persistent sense of guilt. 

“Trying to adapt, " he says with a solemn smile .

“Quinn”, she takes a desperate broken gulp of air, ”I…I'm really sorry, so sorry," a first tear escaping her eyelid slides down her cheekbone and drips from her chin. Her body reacts despite her best efforts to curb chaotic emotions and stay calm. She thinks she has no right to break in front of him, yet her lower lip trembles and more tears follow, her face twists in painful grimace. 

“I haven´t taken care of you the way I should have. I was a bad friend, I´ve let you down and I regret that.” 

It´s not surprising at all to see her flagellating herself with self-blame. Over the course of her career she has been complicit in dropping drones and whipping civilians from the face of the earth, using sex to bring her assets into submission, probing for vices and weaknesses, shameful secrets of her targets – anything that could serve as a leverage, give a better hand in sometimes deadly race. Inevitably she started to drift from well-defined shores into swamps of ambiguity. A bad consciousness dragged behind her like a bloody trail. Her German boyfriend exposed her to the fact that regular citizens going through predictive cycle of burgess life, couldn´t look past her baggage of CIA years. For them her acts seemed to be incomprehensible. The body count loomed over her relationship with Jonas no matter how many times she chanted the mantra of personal transformation. But had she really changed? She was stuck somewhere in between, caught in the limbo. Both sides rejected her, as if she was a foreign body, chimera. To CIA she was somewhat a traitor, to Jonas, on the other hand, she became tainted, her image in his head smeared with blood of the innocents. 

Naturally she expects nothing, but a cold condemnation from Quinn, too, because she deserves it, so his words are completely unexpected.

“You are wrong, Carrie. It was wholly my mistake. I`ve underestimated those guys, I`ve screwed up.” 

God knows he is no saint, he used to kill people for a living, but Carrie´s relentless willingness to nail herself to the cross for every misstep is truly astonishing. Perhaps, her and Saul´s decision to wake him from coma was a tragic oversight, nonetheless he can´t claim he wouldn´t have done the same if he was in their shoes.

“Maybe it happened for the best, I`m finally out,” he whispers. In his heart, he doesn´t believe love-yourself-accept-yourself bullshit his shrink in Berlin was trying to hammer into his head, he hates current weakness of his body, his non-cooperating limbs and incapable lungs, however he needs something to distract her.

 

She throws him an angry look, her cheeks still wet from tears, her mouth red, swollen and standing out from the paleness of her face.

“Don´t give me this bullshit, Quinn. What we did to you… I will never forgive myself for it. I should have never agreed with Saul. Things you have gone through have been no fucking blessing”

“You don´t know that,” he says stubbornly. He doesn´t need her pity or her apologies.

“No, I know that, I know you, Quinn. I´ve been out of CIA before, because I was deemed unsuitable, I am aware how it feels.” 

 

“If there is anything you need…” she adds. 

“No, I am fine” he cuts her off, forcing a smile, still she doesn´t give up, doesn´t want to let go him off her hook that easily.

“How about dinner at my place tonight?” she offers. 

He was expecting anything, but her inviting him to her fucking house. He blinks at her for a moment, completely thrown by her proposition, then musters a semi-coherent response. 

“Yeah, sure”

“Should I pick you up?”

“No, I´ll take a taxi.” 

***  
A taxi ride from his rather dodgy place to her apartment is filled with unanswered questions. He fails to grasp why she wants him back in her life. She had left Berlin before he started his rehabilitation. She had Frannie to take care of, so there were no hard feelings on his part. Her separation with Quinn was nothing, but a natural progression of their relationship, he realized back then in the hospital room. He was damaged goods, a useless bag of muscles and bones, and in the first months the only thing he truly desired was to be left the fuck alone. She called him dozen times, however he never bothered to pick up the phone. First his vocal cords were severed as a result of intubation, making him unable to communicate, then he realized it was a perfect excuse to clip the ties and cut himself out of her life.

Even though, he achieved exactly what he wanted, sometimes he found himself fantasizing about slipping back into a drowsy state of the first post coma days when she was by his side. Those memories were just snippets of vague sensations – her fingertips sliding against his cheek or brushing across his lips, her palms tightly clutching his own, her elegant fingers sinking into his hair. Regardless of ambiguity of those recollections, they turned out to be a golden hook to pull him out of lowlands of despair. Obliviously scattered shreds of consciousness were an arguable solution to his physical and emotional problems, an escapist exit from grim reality, but he clang to them, despite apparent foolishness of his actions. He still revisits those last memories of Carrie sometimes. Their meaning and importance are more profound than he is ready to admit – coming in terms with their weight would evict a whole new avalanche and he can´t afford that, when he is hanging loose.  
*** 

She is pumped with anxious energy that makes her slightly jumpy. She has cooked spaghetti Bolognese, poured two glasses of red vine – a little cliché impression of a first date. Honestly she is unsure of the nature and prospects of their meeting, yet she picks her most provocative dress (the only one she owns, since being a single mom kind of precludes her from going to bars and engaging in hookups) and brightens her lips with a red lipstick. 

With glasses and plates on the table, she sits on the chair, her mind going down the memory drain; his letter reemerging to the surface. She keeps the letter securely tucked between “The Gun and the Olive Branch” and “The Arab Awakening” on her bookshelf. She has reread it so many times, that words imprinted themselves into the lobes of her brain, she almost sees the letters occurring behind her closed eyelids. No matter how devastating are his revelations about seeking darkness and incurring death, they don´t perplex – such impulses are too familiar to turn her blood cold, despite them being utterly upsetting. However, his love confession is a whole another deal. It has a paralyzing effect on her, leaves her completely shaken. She feels unworthy of his affections, contemplates if she would be capable of loving him as much as he loves her, purely, with complete abandon.  
She snaps out of her thoughts, as the bell rings. Carrie smoothes her dress and goes to open the door, her heart drumming loudly. 

His initial reaction doesn´t disappoint her, although moments later he corrects his expression for the sake of politeness. Carrie grins pleased with her little stunt. 

“Come in,” she says with a flirtatious smile, and he can´t help himself, but mirror it back. He gravitates towards her, in spite of his mind warning him about unintelligently disclosing his vulnerabilities. His hopes are long lost in the wind, yet it´s impossible for him remain dispassionate towards her. 

As she leads him deeper into the house, he takes a mental note of how much her current apartment resembles her old one, although it looks much softer, cozier. Bits of Carrie he knows pick through new layers he has yet to discover. Certainly her life in Berlin has changed her. He doesn´t want to think about what part her German boyfriend played in this transformation.

“ You prepared a dinner?” he raises his blue eyes at her, arches a curious brow. When she invited him to her apartment, he was hoping for a chat over a cup of coffee, nothing else. All of sudden her intentions aren´t as clever and unreadable as she presumed them to be. 

“Uggh… I figured you would be hungry,” she responds awkwardly. Well, he can´t object, since his typical menu usually includes garbage served at fast food chains.  
As they sit by the table his gaze falls upon the glass of vine. He hasn´t had alcohol for six months due to the risk of seizures, so his forced abstinence put his drinking problem to an end. 

“Carrie, I can´t drink, “ he releases. 

“Shit, I´m sorry” She splashes the content of his glass into the sink and refills it with mineral water. 

“Better?”  
“Yeah”  
For a fraction of time neither of them talks, suddenly both losing guts to initiate conversation.

“How is Frannie?” Quinn starts from afar reaching for a safer topic. 

“She … she is good, already made some friends. She adapts quickly.”

“Does she miss Berlin?” Do you miss Berlin?  
“No, not now, but it has been tough for her for a few weeks… I wish I could stay longer in Germany, but I had to go.” You needed me and I left. Her eyes are filled with regret and sadness. They are doomed to repeat the same cycle of missed opportunities and unspoken truths. 

“No, you had to leave. I would have hated it, if you weren´t reunited with your daughter because of me. So now you are back in the game. Saul has managed to convince you after all. And Otto During, I bet he had some interesting propositions after you saved everybody´s asses.” 

“He had,” she understandably withholds from Quinn another part of Otto´s suggestion, where he asked her to be his life partner which up today makes her nauseous, “but I declined. My home is in the US.”

He doesn´t know how to address her boyfriend without sounding openly jealous, thus he decides to hell with games and ask her directly. 

“Did Jonas travel with you?”

“We broke up. He didn´t approve my lifestyle,” she says, sounding slightly dismissive of her ex-boyfriend. 

”He seemed like a nice guy, although a bit clueless,” Quinn smirks.  
“No shit, he fucking sucked at babysitting, but Quinn, what were you thinking?” 

“You were in danger and I did what was right.” Carrie shakes her head, she can´t believe he keeps defending his reckless and stupid plan.

“You ask too much of yourself, Quinn, and I am not sure if I deserve such devotion,” she whispers, avoiding his eyes. 

“I have so much to thank you for. You stood by my side all these years, we´ve been through thick and thin together, and not once you gave me reason to doubt you.”

“What can I say, I am extremely reliable,” he makes an attempt to laugh it off, yet beneath a cocky grin he is caught by unforeseen uneasiness. They made a transition into more personal matters, and he is not entirely confident he can handle them very well. Besides, he hates seeing Carrie stripping herself of all dignity, while praising him. 

“You have no fucking clue, do you?” he wonders with a pang of anguish. She has been exploited for years by Saul and CIA, drugged and locked in the institution as a part of her mentor´s rouse, kidnapped, beaten, and still she thinks so little of herself, when she is the most brave and intelligent person he has ever encountered.

After a minute of silence Carrie dares to ask him again. 

“Where do you work now?”

“In a private sector, a small security firm. Not a terribly thrilling job, but I guess, that´s my life now,” he shrugs. She recognizes a disappointment lurking behind his irises, longing for his former life saturated with adrenalin and bloody danger. However he had to give it up for the sake of surviving, substituting existence right on the edge with a pathetic imitation of it. She wants to tell him that it´s possible to find gratification from other things, that there is still hope for him and he doesn´t belong to darkness. 

“How are your lungs and leg doing?” she inquires instead, suspecting he acts healthier than he really is, concealing his condition as much as possible.

“They are fine,” he quips visibly irritated by her question. He doesn´t need her sympathy or pity, if anything he feels somewhat insulted by them. 

Carrie rolls her eyes at his childishness and strong-headed attitude.

““Fine” – is a quite indefinite answer,” she pushes further, to wear him off and make him cave in. 

“And I don´t want to talk about it,” he insists, his lips pressed into a thin line.  
“Why ?”

“Because there is nothing to discuss. I take medication, go to therapy and have sessions with a shrink once a week, end of a story,” he cuts short her efforts to dive deeper and fish for facts that would be complete the picture. Undoubtedly he senses her concern, but he doesn´t want to display his vulnerabilities. He had been diagnosed with major depression and PTSD few months ago, however his treatment has been sporadic ever since he had walked out of the hospital, so he purposely lies to her. She senses his resistance, understands she won´t get anywhere with him, so she changes the topic.

***

After dinner he helps her with dishes, a towel draped over his shoulder. She spies on him from the corner of her eye. Alcohol has relaxed her and loosened her inhibitions, even though she tries to keep her ogling to a minimum. She´s well aware of how attractive he is. She has been fantasising about sleeping with Quinn for years, almost as long as they have been colleagues. Even in bed with her saint German boyfriend. She simply couldn´t censor those fantasies despite a consequent inundation of remorse. She certainly isn´t ashamed of her yearning now, when there is a real chance for them stirring on the horizon and no German partner to muddle the water. She clears her throat and wills her voice sound as neutral as possible.  
“It´s quite late. You can stay and take a couch.” 

He gathers it´s rather hilarious after years of their partnership she believes her tricks will work on him. “I am not sure it´s a good idea”

“May I ask you why exactly?”  
“I can´t give you what you want, Carrie.”  
“Because you are no longer interested?”  
“Because consequences would be disastrous.”  
“You believe your condition will burden me, that it will complicate my life and I will regret inviting you into my bed.”  
“Precisely.”  
”I had made a choice before you left to Syria, I was ready to accept your offer.”  
“Doesn´t matter, things have changed.”  
“For Christ´s sake, Quinn! Would you quit being such masochist?!”  
He finally runs out of patience with her, grasping her shoulder in a tight grip.  
“You wanna fuck? Let´s fuck then!”  
He digs his fingertips into her shoulder blades and drives her into his body, simultaneously capturing her mouth with his. He seeks to dissociate, make the act purely physical, but pent-up emotions of four years implode, his iron self-control finally bursting into pieces and just like that he can no longer discipline his desires.

He slips his digits through golden threads of her hair, marveling at the silky texture. She is small, delicate compared to him, clutching at his shirt with her right hand, her left palm encircling his bicep. Carrie leans into him, embraces him tightly, knocking breath out of his lungs. Their closeness overwhelms his senses, sends a shudder down his spine.

Her hand mimics the motions of his own, cupping the nape of his neck, deepening their kiss. He is a good kisser, no surprise here, all sensual nips and clever tongue. It´s exhilarating experience for her, but the notion that he the only person left on this earth besides her family who truly cares for her somehow is enough to quicken her pulse. 

Gentleness of his lips and fingers convey a different message than his crude words before. Quinn takes his mouth off her lips, gliding it down under her jaw, where her carotid artery strums under thin skin conceding her growing arousal. He breathes in her neck, somewhat struggling to maintain last semblance of control, his palm taking off from its spot above her clavicle and slithering down her front. Her nipples poke through fabric of her black dress, brush against the underside of his hand, giving him an idea. He rubs and twists them slightly which earns a raspy sigh from Carrie´s mouth. She arches into his warm palm that now cups her right breast. She wishes for more friction, something to get her off. Needless to say, she is immensely pleased when she realizes his unoccupied hand has found its way under the hem of her dress.  
While continuing to tease the peak of her right breast and sucking at the skin under her jaw, he runs his fingernails against her inner thigh, going up until he reaches the edge of her underwear. First he strokes her through the fabric, steadily increasing pressure, her wetness soaking his digits, the contact not substantial to let her orgasm, however adequate to keep her on the brink. She even considers bluntly humping his hand, if it helps sooth the tension, but then he sneaks two fingers under the material of her panties. He finds her clit quickly, working it in a clockwise fashion. She so fucking wet already – he can manipulate her directly without worrying about hurting her. 

“Oh, God,” Carrie rasps, a promise of release coiling at the base of her spine, her juices sloshing all over his hand. He adds more fingers, rapidly penetrating her hole, whilst strumming a bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. Her thighs start to quake and she clutches his shoulders for stability.  
His digits stay relentless in their pursuit to wrench every ounce of pleasure out of her, stimulating her clit with firm and precise strokes, teasing her folds with feather-like touches that make hips grind into his palm greedily, because she swears, he is so good.  
It doesn´t take long for him to finish her off, since she is so wound-up, slicing electrified air with low groans and sighs. Seconds pass before she comes with a breathless moan and he drinks her sated expression, kissing her softly afterwards.  
“Wow, should have seduced you sooner,” she comments with a hoarse voice.  
“Yeah, you should have,” he says, locking his eyes with hers and petting her hair.  
“Let me make amends.”  
She guides him to sit on the couch. She straddles him and quickly unzips his jeans, pushes his underwear down his legs, his hard cock springing free. Neither of them has patience to deal with the rest of their clothes, so she just pushes her knickers aside and sinks onto him.

His jaw clenches at the sensations and new found intimacy between them. He cups the back of her head and kisses her, pushing his tongue past her teeth. She responds to his ministrations by kissing him back and tugging at his hair, whilst her hips move up and down his prick, steadily increasing tempo. She yearns to see him fall apart in front of her, to have a rare glimpse at his true unguarded self through cracks in his perfectly collected marble façade. 

He starts to pant, her strategy getting better of him. Following his baser instincts and growing ache for release, he wraps his arms tightly around her, bringing her close, caging her in his embrace, whilst simultaneously driving his pelvis upwards. He fucks her, building up the pace, impaling her on his cock which is exactly what she prefers in sex – raw grinding of bodies, heightened moments and quick gratification. She doesn´t hesitate to show him her delight by moaning his name that in the end comes to be his undoing. She shivers, feeling him climax, not far behind herself, as it only takes his thumb against her clit for her to reach the peak.

Afterwards they don´t switch their positions, just lay there catching their breathes and gaping like fish, thrown out of the water. He absentmindedly draws circles against her back, traces invisible lines between her shoulder blades – a gesture perhaps, too intimate for casual sex, however he is tired and spent, doesn´t think clearly, otherwise he would gather his belongings and leave immediately, unable to face the aftermath.  
“I need a shower,” Carrie whispers, disentangling their limbs and detaching herself from him.

“You can join, if you want to,” she adds. To her surprise, he actually follows her into the bathroom. She expected him to run.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please rate & review! I am always interested in feedback!


End file.
